Acknowledgment
by 002219
Summary: Jaune's decision to strive for badassery did not start with epic shounen spirit, nor a sky-rending sword right out of a stone like Excalibur, but instead with two shields and a witch, as well as an airport during a snowy day in midwinter.


It was an accidental encounter, and at this point of time, he still remembered it vividly.

By chance, the young man had noticed a small book drop from her trench coat's pocket. And, like most chance encounters, the probability of him seeing it had been low to an extreme degree. Given it was the start of holiday season, the airport was filled with a great, constantly mumbling crowd of travelers, both the ones with the intent to leave and the ones who'd just arrived. Despite the factors conspiring against him, he _saw _that book fall. He _saw _a person who, though did not notice, was in need.

And Jaune Arc, though his combat skill varies greatly depending on who he's with and what tools are available for him, whenever possible, he was always willing to lend a hand.

Slinging the shield he had just bought from a traveling foreign merchant, Jaune twisted his body through the human wall, almost as though he was dancing, and collected the wandering passport with a single swipe, right in between a man's stride and the next. Then, without breaking rhythm, he weaved through and reached the coated woman, tapping her thrice on the shoulder—just to make sure she knew it was a deliberate contact, and react accordingly.

"Excuse me, Miss?"

When she turned, he absently noted her simple but elegant beauty. It was not a very prominent thought, however, as there had been a lot of beautiful women recently, and he'd been friends with most of them.

Jaune easily settled into pace at an arm's distance to her right. "You dropped something," he then continued, lifting the captured belonging in his hand.

Cinder Fall blinked, lifted the hem of her hat slightly, and retrieved the object, looking bemused and quite a bit bewildered.

"Thank you," she says after a while, and stole a glance at the direction from which she had walked, tracing a path straight to the terminals. There was a sizable pause, as though she was deliberating something of great importance, before nodding to herself and pointing in the general direction of the exit. Next, with a small undercurrent of warning, she told him, "If you have nothing more to do here, I suggest you leave this place quickly. I doubt this place will be safe for you much longer."

He rewarded her concern(?) with a confused smile. "Why do you say that?"

"'Why'? I'm sure you can think of a better question than that." Strangely, she seemed to be goading him into further conversation, an occurrence that happens far too scarcely for him to be able to respond immediately.

So he took a moment to revel in the attention, and decided that he liked the feeling.

Laughing (not too loudly, there was an elderly couple sleeping a few feet away), he replied, "Alright, er, well, if that's the case then why do you only tell _me_ about this?" They had separated from the crowd, now, a refreshing cold air bringing cool comfort onto his face. Without a constant blur of shadows in the background, he noticed that though the woman is clearly older, he was just about as tall as he is. Ruby was wrong, after all—you don't need milk to grow tall.

"Who said I told _only_ you?" A sly smile danced across Cinder's features, and she concluded with a sweep of her hair. "…T'was a better question. Not impressive by any means, but better. One more try, and maybe I'll answer honestly."

Jaune bit back the childish complaint of, 'But you never put a limit!' and thought hard.

Now, it could have been because of the rising suspicion that this woman is a threat. Or it could be that captivating smile of hers. Regardless, he found himself actually treating this inquiry with seriousness. Innate talent and past experience taught him that he must think far, _far_ outside the box for this one; so far out, in fact, that it can only be traced back to the box in the faintest sense of the word. Ren, interestingly, had once noted that this exertion of mental strength was almost like flipping a switch, and so resemble the difference between light and shadow—coincidentally, his own mother had mentioned that as a result of his general laziness, it wasn't often people would see him do this.

How alluring this woman must be, then, that she drew out his soulful self so quickly.

Think outside the box, Jaune's mind processed. Change the entire question structure to reap the most information out of the subtlest inquiry.

Wait. _Subtle?_

Why does he even need to be subtle?

_Outside of the box, success. _A tentative boost of confidence drove his next few words.

"Well then I demand your source—and I want a specific one."

She blinked, once, twice, and then chuckled. Not giggled, chuckled. The difference had never been as clear to him as it had this moment, the soft, muffled tinkling sound washing through his ear canals.

"Roman Torchwick."

She said it with such meaning, as though expecting a great, exciting reaction. A glint of mischief entered her eyes, giving her a fox-like expression as her lips puckered slightly upwards.

And, in all honesty, Jaune had no idea who that was.

"…What does a roman chandelier have to do with anything?" he openly admitted his confusion, and Cinder replied with, at first, shock—then, wonderment, and finally, amusement.

She lifted a finger and pointed backwards. "Well, you can turn back and find out, if you want. It's your choice, really—although, you _would_ risk injury and death, if I may be blunt. You might as well wait and find out later in the safety of your own home. I'm certain they'll cover it in television." With that, the red witch quickens her pace, and the dismissal in her body language convinced her brief companion not to follow.

What an odd person, Jaune thinks to himself—pleasant, but odd.

* * *

There was a small but ever-growing vertigo as he tried to recall further and further through his memories. Eventually, the sense of sight faded into full black, and whatever he remembered hearing slowly drowned out into white noise.

And after _that_, there was only blank.

Strange, that. Maybe the cloud of recent awakening was fogging his memory? The lag would have to be _really _bad for that to happen, Jaune considers, his body reveling in the soft, warming pillows whose origins he knew not of.

Procrastination, he soon realizes, has never felt so good before.

Even if his stomach is so dreadfully empty.

"Your laziness is of a level I have never thought possible. I'm amazed at how heavy your eyelids seem to be."

Ah, it's that voice—the one from his most recent recollections. Jaune pauses, took in the feel of the bed and the room, and came to a terrifying conclusion. "Am I…" he began, making sure his eyes do not open so as not to confirm his likely hypothesis. "Am I in your house, Miss?"

Cinder gave a disinterested glance—mostly because the boy _still _refused to open those damned eyes of his—and twirled the swiveling chair she had been sitting on around to greet him. "Why, yes, yes you are. I trust your brain has regained a bit of power to notice such a _small, insignificant_ thing?" It seemed that in the comfort of her own home, she was decidedly more open with her voice, as well as a bit more descriptive, no longer cutting off every excess possible.

"Not nearly enough to make me want to think of having to deal with this situation—and how." Sighing, Jaune carefully sat up, his instinctive humility refusing to trouble the woman any more than he already did. The moment of truth no longer hanging over and casting heaviness unto his eyelids, the wannabe knight took a moment to observe his host.

She was wearing casual clothes, a blue sweater over a white blouse, with form-fitting pants that traveled almost all the way to the ankles. A pair of bunny slippers (she's got good taste, he absentmindedly notes) covered her feet; not at all surprising given the midwinter days they are experiencing.

What he failed to notice was the friendly smile that now tweaked her lips at his observing gaze. A smile that disappeared quickly so as to hide her inner entertainment at his antics.

"Do stop staring. Even if I must applaud you for your taste in female bodies."

"I wasn't! Just doing a _once-over._ I didn't take a moment to stop and admire anywhere. So, really, you're worrying over nothing."

"Psh, tricky bastard. You even had my hopes up for a moment, right there."

* * *

As Jaune had soon found out, talking with the woman whose house he was inhabiting is a constant circular activity. _There is literally no end to it. _Every jab he threw, she would divert into another flurry of verbal blows. After every victory, she twists the metaphorical knife with biting, formal, and almost deadpan sarcasm.

Finally, after what seemed to be a quarter of the entire day (it reached all the way to nighttime, he can't stress this enough), he finally recognized a pattern in her sentence structure, baiting tactics, and feinting shots—he recognized it and exploited it ruthlessly.

_I know now the terror of women_, Jaune muses in despair as he lets out the question that had plagued him throughout his recovery. _And with this enlightenment,_ _I have become strong._

"May I ask why I'm here, if it's not too much trouble?"

It sounded simple, but this sentence had been placed in a very specific spot in their conversation, through entire paragraphs' worth of unnecessary prose, right before a very time-critical counter that he had baited her into setting up, and was specially prepared to plough right past her planned script. Jaune was a tactician at heart, and he demonstrated it proudly. Sadly, his verbal sparring partner was much more experienced at concealing surprise, especially now that she has a better grasp of his intelligence and cleverness, and there was no blink nor shock to celebrate his victory.

The woman who sat across from him in the dining table held up an open palm, telling him to wait, as she swallowed a mouthful of noodles. In turn, Jaune proceeded to eat his own, seeing as he had plenty of time before his turn to speak comes around once more.

"You don't remember?" she asked after wiping her mouth and taking a gulp of iced lemonade. "It was quite the entertaining story. Entertaining enough that I went through the trouble of letting you rest here.

"It involved shields, young man. Dual shields."

* * *

_Two Days Ago._

The coated lady's warning finally rang true as packs of Grimm started converging on every separate terminal physically within reach. Did Jaune feel stupid at this turn of events? Why, yes, yes he did, and he was giving himselfa sizable amount of loathing and curses that would have made his dear old dad proud and his sweet deadly mom hanging her head in disappointment.

The Armored Boar—that's what Jaune had taken to calling it, since he had not paid attention in Grimm Studies—charged, Juggernaut-style, at him in the narrow airport corridor. At his back, everyone else ran for their lives, several of which had tried to bring him with them until he affirmed his decision.

The decision, to stand his ground and _fight._

He brought out the great shield he'd gotten at a 60% discount, inserted his left hand through it, and readied into a strange, but not uncomfortable, stance. The other shield in his possession rested in his right arm, but Crocea Mors was left back at the dorm—he merely brought the shield as a sample, as he was curious as to what other foldable shields may be available, and because the security guards allowed defensive tools, not lethal weapons.

Jaune would not ever remember what he was thinking or smoking to reach that conclusion, because all of a sudden, all trains of thought converged into a single running lap. The perversion of logic that his equipment created went ignored and pushed to the great unknown.

The fight, no longer obscured by unreliable emotions or wandering thoughts, began.

Armored Boar got in close. In two seconds, it would reach him and rip him in half by the waist.

Jaune stepped forward, his greatshield angled upwards with the lower tip sweeping under the Grimm. There is now a split second until impact, because of the reduced distance.

The moment the Boar's front legs started to hover above the metallic object, he pushed his arm upwards and forward, his raw strength flinging the Boar's head up to the air with sizable effort.

Impact avoided. Not remaining still, his right, standby leg twirled around to position himself behind the already-falling Grimm, and in the exact same timespan his arm outstretched itself to reach for the metallic upper jaw of the enemy.

With all his remaining stamina, Jaune pulled back.

And then the Boar's head, from the upper jaw all the way to the cranium, was ripped off its body and sent tumbling down the corridor in a decidedly silly manner. The rest of its pack, who had been standing in the back smugly grinning as their brother-in-arms assaulted the puny human, let out a confused whine, before he turned his attention on them, too.

So Jaune retraced his steps and modified it into a chain of movements almost reminiscent of dancing as heads ripped here and there, while other Boarbatusk were flipped over by their behinds and had decidedly embarrassing final moments that had much to do with thrashing about on the floor like toddlers.

When all is said and done, from the direction of the exit there was a cry of, "Kid, get back, we got this—!" as several security officers turned the corner and drew their guns, prepared to aim and shoot the reported threat. The statement, however, trailed off, slowly, gradually, into silence.

"I was not expecting that to happen," the young man said simply, trying to justify the blood that soiled his clothes.

To his side, the last decapitated head rolled to a stop, as though to emphasize the dramatic moment.

It should also be noted that that was the last day Vale's airport allowed shields in hand-carry luggage.

* * *

_Present Day._

"… … …"

The munching of noodles stopped, and the loose strands of yellowy goodness slipped from his mouth and fell back to the broth. Cinder wasn't terribly bothered by the sight, for it would still be just as delicious; she knew from experience, after all. For the umpteenth time that day, she found herself pleasantly surprised. No one had managed to have such a long, stoic stare-down into her golden eyes before.

She rose an eyebrow, and the sarcastic expression seemed to fix his physical body's brief moment of external dysfunction. The loud slurp that escaped his mouth invaded the room's reigning silence without mercy, robbing her of her silent amusement and giving her appropriate dramatic tension to voice it.

"It was impressive. I've never seen such a fighting style before."

"…Impressively awesome, or impressively stupid?"

"The latter, I believe."

He sighed. Chopsticks in hand, he began playing with the floating beef, his mind searching for something, anything, to run damage control against that stupid stunt, which would also probably inconvenience several hundred people in the days to come. "Do you think committing sudoku will let me regain my lost honor?" he asked, as the infamous self-demeaning punishment is the only answer he could name off the top of his head.

In response, Cinder reached for a small drawer under the table, pulled out a few newspaper cutouts and handed them, along with a pen, towards her fascinating new spectacle of a…friend, she supposed? They certainly weren't having standard adult-to-child conversations. And 'acquaintance' seemed to stretch the level of their anonymity too far, considering how much they've started to uncover about one another's habits.

"Here you go, friend."

Jaune did not complain, and the older of the two took that as an agreement to her mental proposal. "Thanks." He paused, and stared curiously at the rising flame pattern embroidered into the pen's surface. "Nice design. Handmade?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Awesome."

* * *

It was only after dinner that they both tested, and by extension fully realized, the gap between his swording and shielding skills.

It was a ravine—no, a continent apart from one another.

She sighed with a touch of pity, reluctantly admitting that he would need a lot of work in order to survive a Hunter's job. He'd been doing so well at his first impressions, too. "No more swords for you, Jaune. From today onwards, you must go Shieldman." There is no other way, and they both reached a mutual agreement on that, even if the Shieldman in question wouldn't admit out loud.

Jaune did not grace her with a reply, and instead simply focused on calming his breath and slowing down his racing heart. Goodness, that spell she called Firestorm was wholly intense, on a level far beyond anything he had ever seen in his life. Even Yang's full wrath was a small ember, at _best_, when compared to his new friend's magnificent flames.

"…From your inexperience with what _should _have been your main weapon…I suppose you were a casual fighter before this? Hobbyist, even?"

It was a sad truth, but it was a truth he accepted. Before you can change your way, you must first swallow your pride and let go of any delusions that what you were doing weren't as bad as it looked to be. Such was life, he reasoned, and his life was only just starting.

There was a small silence as he composed his breath and his answer. "Yeah. Yeah, when you get right down to it, I was a filthy_ casul_. Maybe even still am, all things considered." _Casul. _It is the ultimate insult, an admission or, in its more common use, an accusation of halfhearted attempt, a title worse than coward, worse than chicken, even worse than _Dickwraith. _A rabble that no one in the know would ever want to associate themselves with, and even less to refer to themselves as one.

Jaune lifted his head and looked to the moon overhead, trying so very hard to see himself soaring beyond the firmament. Looking at his body, resting in a relatively well-hidden courtyard, surrounded in all sides by buildings or tall walls, he found such a dream laughable at best now. And yet—

"But I don't really care. With every mistake I make, I learn something new, and in that moment, I become slightly less of a wimp. Whenever I get shot down, I'll just come back, again and again. If I sin by my friends, wrong them, then I'll just do my best to achieve redemption. Even priests told me that it's only human to commit a sin, to fall, to screw up in life. That's my final consolation, and the only one I can ever believe in."

—Even if there's no dream to aspire to, the drive that boils his blood and turns his will to steel shines still under the moonlit night.

Cinder looked at him with interest. "So. You know what you must do."

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

The competitive spirit that destroys and rebuilds anew, that which always accompanies the greatest of innovations and the bloodiest of revolutions, _that _is the answer.

He stood up, the snowflakes dusting itself off as though he was rising a new man. The skyward beacon that soothes him even in the stormiest nights since childhood brightened as a heavy cloud that had impeded its full glory passed by with haste, and even as his white-and-gold jacket gleamed in the nightly rays, his singular sentence rang for her to behold, and him to live up to.

"I must git gud."

Her lips curled, still foxy as ever, and the wind sent chills up and down her spine. The exciting sensation positively _buzzed_ as she imagined what is to come. And there will, indeed, be things to come, for she would accompany this casul's grinding to badassery all the way to the very end. Why, you ask? For what purpose? Heh, certainly you can come up with better questions than those.

The woman known as Cinder stood up and walked over to the backdoor from which they had exited, tilting her head at the curiously staring young man.

And quite the young man he turned out to be, certainly enough to consume all her attention these past few days.

"Welcome to the world of Hunting, then, filthy casul." Those words were spoken in warm salutations, signifying it as a genuine welcoming invitation to the path he chose to tread.

You could almost hear her final, double entendre thoughts.

—I'll make a man out of you yet.

* * *

Author's Notes

Remember that time when the RWBY Wiki discussed what possible modifications/extensions Jaune's sword could be? And remember all those admittedly ridiculously named and complex oversword/sheath/guns that people try to give him?

This is my response. _Shieldman._

To celebrate dual-wielding shields becoming somewhat viable in Dark Souls 2—well, actually, just because it seemed like a great idea at the time—I decided to toss him twin shields and have him go full-on bludgeoner on his enemies. Or, as an extension to this imagination, we can have Jaune go full Flamelurker with his aura and cause explosions every time he slams his shield down, that works too.


End file.
